


Dancing Around Feelings

by Pandoras_box1617



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 12:05:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13763805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandoras_box1617/pseuds/Pandoras_box1617
Summary: Brett and Nolan have not gotten along since their failed blind date, but that doesn't stop Jackson and Stiles from making them their child's godfathers. What happens when they find themselves the guardians of a mischievous child?





	Dancing Around Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been on a Jackson/Stiles and Nett fics, so this has some shout outs to those such as Nolan's nickname and Malia being related to Jackson. i hope you like this!

"Isaac – Isaac, that's Papa's ear."

Stiles snickers lightly under his breath, then reaches for the child. "Oh, hand him over, Jackson."

Brett raises an eyebrow at Jackson. "Why does he pull on your ear?"

Jackson hands the squirming child to his other father, then says with a shrug, "Maybe that's just how he likes to show affection."

"He does it because he's a baby. Or maybe he already knows that it annoys you to have your ears touched," Stiles teases, grinning cheekily. "Jackson's ears are ticklish."

"I kind of don't think that's it," Brett says with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. "Remember that party you guys had, what, last Christmas? He wasn't ticklish then, because you got drunk and started biting his ears and rubbing his –,"

Stiles turns roughly the color of a tomato. "That's enough," he says hastily, covering his son's ears. "Young ears, Brett! Really!"

Brett rolls his eyes and snickers. "Sorry, man."

It's Jackson's turn to smirk. "Wasn't that also the party where you ended up throwing up on Nolan's shoes . . .?"

Brett's expression sobers immediately, and he glares at Jackson. "You've got it backwards, Ear-Kink-Jackson," he replies sneering. "The nerd threw up on my shoes like a little baby lightweight."

Just then, there's the distant sound of a doorbell ringing. "I'll get it," Stiles says, getting up from the table and heading off, carrying Isaac on his hip.

Moments later, Stiles returns with a shorter, blonde young man following him. Jackson seems to find the grimace that comes over Brett's face to be extremely comical, because he snickers under his breath and then exchanges a knowing little glance with Stiles.

The other young man doesn't look at all pleased to see Brett, either. "Hi, Jackson . . . Hello, Brett."

"'Sup, Freckles," Brett greets, leaning his chair back on two legs and giving Nolan a dismissive nod.

Nolan's lips quirk slightly, but he doesn't say anything – instead, he turns to Stiles. "So – I came by early to see if you needed any help setting up for the party."

"That's why I'm here," Brett interjects. "So, you're kind of unnecessary."

Nolan glances back at Brett. "You don't seem to be doing anything but sitting around."

"O-kay," Stiles says, before Brett has time to respond. "Nolan, you can help me set up the food, if you'd like. Here, one of you take the baby –,"

"I'll hold him," Brett offers. Stiles deposits the wiggling baby into Brett's lap, and then he and Nolan leave the room, Nolan muttering something under his breath as they go.

"I can't stand him," Brett says once Nolan and Stiles are out of earshot.

Jackson rolls his eyes. "I'm aware of that," he reminds the younger man. "Everyone who's ever been within twenty miles of you two at the same time is aware of that."

"It's a damn shame he's got such a pretty face," Brett grumbles, as Isaac lets out a random baby-gurgle. "But he's such an annoyance. With his flannels and khaki slacks. Who wears khaki slacks anymore, anyway?"

"Stiles does," Jackson says reasonably. "People with real jobs, generally."

Brett snorts, grabs a wax apple from the bowl of fake fruit on the table, and throws it at Jackson's head (Jackson dodges easily, of course). "Fuck you!"

Stiles, with his insane bat-like hearing, shouts from somewhere in the huge house, "YOUNG EARS!"

Brett feels mildly freaked out by that. "How did he hear that?"

Jackson shrugs. "Sometimes I feel like he planted bugs everywhere or something . . ."

 

"I cannot stand him," Nolan confides in Stiles, after Stiles yells across the house to Brett. Nolan and Stiles are currently finishing setting up the cupcakes into what Stiles calls an "adorable little display".

"I know, I know," Stiles sighs.

"He's just such a . . ." Nolan searches for a non-vulgar word, and, finding none, he finishes, "a dick!"

"Shh!" Stiles says, before remembering that there are no babies in the room. "Oh. Sorry."

"You know, I really don't think you should be so worried about Isaac repeating those things yet," Nolan says. "You guys don't swear a lot, and he's not talking much yet anyways."

Stiles frowns. "I just don't want his next word to be a bad one, obviously. But anyway, back to Brett . . . you know, he's not all that bad. Isaac adores him."

"Only because Brett has the mind of a child himself. It's understandable that Isaac is comfortable around his intellectual peers," Nolan mutters. Ordinarily he doesn't say things like that about others, having been the victim of bullying enough times in his life to dislike trash-talking others (aloud, that is), but he knows that Stiles understands. Stiles understands almost everything, especially personal issues.  
Stiles barely suppresses a snicker. "Yes, well, Brett may be a bit . . . rude at times, but he can be quite funny, too. He and Jackson have been best friends for a while, and Jackson says he's a talented player and assistant coach. I can't concur, because I've never actually seen him play, but –"

"I know, I know, you trust Jackson's judgment implicitly," Nolan says. "You trusted Jackson's judgment when he thought Brett and I would be a good match, didn't you? And look how well that worked out, Stiles!"

Stiles sighs yet again and starts digging around in the cabinets for something. "We've apologized time and time again for that. But really, how were we to know that he'd show up an hour late?"

"Not just an hour late," Nolan reminds, adjusting his glasses. "On a motorcycle. Arguing with some ex-girlfriend on the phone."

Stiles winces. "He really couldn't help that last bit. Tracy was a bit obsessed with him. From what I've heard, she went a bit crazy after they broke up."

Nolan rolls his eyes. "I just can't believe he used to date girls," he mutters. "Especially girls with green hair and . . . God knows what else."

"You used to date girls," Stiles points out. "Well. A girl."

Nolan winces. "Please don't remind me," he pleads. "Wait! I don't mean to offend . . ."

"I know, I know," Stiles says reassuringly. "Trust me, I've heard all the details of the relationship and the break-up from Jackson’s sister."

" . . . All of the details?" Nolan inquires a little worriedly.

Stiles nods. "All of them. The good, the bad, and the ugly ones. Especially the bad and ugly ones."

"Wonderful."

Stiles gives Nolan a quick, reassuring pat on the arm, and says, "The guests will be arriving soon, so I've got to go and get Isaac into his party clothes. Do you think you can manage to avoid Brett for at least a few hours?"

Nolan sighs. "I doubt it, but I'll try."

Mission: Avoid the Douchebag is initially a success, but halfway through the party, it abruptly fails. Thanks to the d-bag himself.

Nolan is sitting in a chair that's been set up in the backyard next to a huge sculpture– a giant metal tree. He's sipping punch and looking up at it admiringly when an annoyingly familiar, "sexily" deep voice assaults his ears.

"Wassup,Doc" Brett Talbot says. Nolan lowers his gaze from the sculpture and finds Brett standing there, casually eating a baby carrot from the food table.

"Are you supposed to be Bugs Bunny?" Nolan asks. "I'm afraid I don't get the joke."

"Are you supposed to be such a loser?" Brett retorts. "Because no one gets you."

"Witty comeback."

"Asshole."

"Another zinger," Nolan mutters under his breath, his cheeks heating up.

"Sorry, what? Didn't quite catch that," Brett says. He's smirking, as though antagonizing and squabbling with Nolan is the absolute highlight of his day.

"I said –," Nolan starts in a low voice, before he's cut off by Stiles, who comes into the yard singing and carrying a cake that looks to be at least as tall as he is. Jackson hurries to help his husband with the cake before it (or Stiles, or both) topples over.

Nolan half-heartedly joins in with the singing of Happy Birthday, while Brett just stares at him, amused. The man (or, well, baby) of the hour, Isaac, just looks around at everyone like he has absolutely no idea what's going on, but like he's loving every second of it.

When the singing is done, everyone crowds around to either get a slice of cake or watch the absolutely adorable spectacle that is Isaac, stuffing his tiny face with a slice of cake and rubbing baby blue icing everywhere – on his clothes, on his face, into his short blonde hair, and on anything he can reach. Nolan stands, fully intending to escape Brett by getting in line for cake, but Brett inexplicably follows him.

Stiles spots them, hurries over, and grabs both of them by an arm. "I want to get Isaac's picture with both of his godfathers while he's eating cake," he says cheerfully. "It'll be adorable!" Nolan's about to whine and say, eugh, don't remind me that I share a title with this guy, but then he reminds himself that he's twenty-five, not five, and just smiles and nods and allows himself to be dragged over to Isaac's high chair.

Nolan gets on one side of the baby and Brett gets on the other, both of them bending over slightly so that Jackson can get them all in the picture. Nolan's smiling awkwardly when he feels a warm, sticky little hand touch his cheek.

He turns slightly to look at Isaac, and finds the child grinning broadly at him, having smeared blue icing and baby slobber all over Nolan's cheek. Nolan laughs, surprised, and Isaac squeals exuberantly, and Brett laughs, too, and then beep, beep, flash!, Jackson takes the picture.

Nolan straightens up and takes the napkin that someone proffers, using it to get the sticky stuff off of his cheek. Brett is still grinning at him. "He got you good," Brett says, giving Isaac an approving look. "Nice one, Isaac."

Stiles beams at them. "See? You two can forget how much you hate each other for long enough to take a nice picture, at least. I'm proud of you!"

"Well, I'm proud of Isaac," Jackson says, plucking the baby up out of his high chair and squeezing him gently. "One year – he's growing so fast, isn't he, Stiles –?"

Jackson is cut off as his son reaches out and smears a handful of cake and icing all over his face. Everyone, even Jackson, dissolves into laughter, and Stiles reaches out to stroke the baby's hair affectionately and laughs, "That's my boy . . ."

A week later, Brett gets the call that changes everything.

Later, he won't even remember exactly what the woman on the other end of the line says. He'll only remember hanging up his cell phone and heading out, leaving behind everything of importance in his office. Jackson's is next door to his, and he makes a strange, half-choked noise as he runs past the closed door on his way out of the building. He yanks his keys out of his pocket and gets on his motorcycle. He won't remember the drive, either, but that doesn't really matter to him.

He hurries into the building to find Nolan already there, sitting in a hard-plastic chair with his head in his hands.

Brett dashes forward. "Isaac – is he –?"

Nolan lifts his head, and his cheeks and eyes are reddened from crying. "He's okay. He was with their babysitter."

Brett feels weak in the knees, like at any moment he's going to hit the floor. He sinks into the chair next to Nolan. "They're – Jackson and Stiles – Jackson and Stiles . . ."

"I know," Nolan whispers. "Oh, God."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Brett says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and pressing a hand to his face. His brain still can't even fucking compute it, can't wrap his mind around the fact that they're gone.

Nolan surprises Brett then – he rests a gentle arm over Brett's shoulders. Brett shudders, but not in disgust at Nolan's touch, like he ordinarily might have. "They can't be dead . . . it's not . . . A car crash? But they were both so . . ."

"Some woman – I don't even remember her name – told me that it was a drunk driver," Nolan whispers. He's crying again, but his voice is relatively easy to understand. Brett sounds like he's swallowing nails if he tries to talk when he's crying.

"Fucking bastard," Brett hisses, barely under control. He's half an inch from losing it. The only thing that's keeping him from getting up and punching a wall right now is Nolan's arm around his shoulders, which makes no sense at all.

"I know," Nolan says. "I know."

There's a moment of silence, while Nolan wipes his tears on the sleeve of his free arm and Brett stares at the floor, thinking, dead. Dead. Dead.

"What about Isaac?" Brett finally asks in a low, shaky voice. "Where is he?"

"CPS has to keep him for tonight," Nolan responds. "They'll give him to – to us tomorrow. That's why they called us."

"Give him to us?" Brett repeats dumbly.

Nolan nods. "We're – they listed us as guardians. Joint guardians. In the event of their . . ."

"Okay," Brett whispers, "okay." But this is not okay, nothing is okay right now. It doesn't even make sense, that Jackson and Stiles would trust their precious baby to them, of all people – even if they are "godfathers". But there's nothing else he can think to say right now but okay.

Nolan gives him a squeeze and then removes his arm. Nolan's the one who's been crying, yet he's acting like Brett is the one who ought to be comforted. Strangely, Brett doesn't mind being comforted too much.

"They're gone," Brett says after a moment. His brain is finally catching up, it's finally sinking in. They're gone.

"Gone," Nolan echoes, voice hollow. "They're gone."

Jackson's and Stiles's joint funeral is probably the saddest thing Nolan's ever seen.

Nearly everyone is weeping or has been weeping. Brett sits beside him, and after two days, he's finally broken down and is crying silently. Nolan feels so emotionally overloaded that he's devoid of any more tears. He's spent the past two days dealing with a nearly-silent Brett and a squalling baby.

Right now, Isaac is in a baby carrier at Nolan's feet. He's sleeping soundly, unaware that his daddy and his papa are being eulogized right now. Oh, but he's noticed their absence. He cries more often than Nolan's seen him cry in his full one year of existence, and it can take ages to quiet him when he really gets going. It doesn't help that both Nolan and Brett are wrecks right now and that they've been forced to stay at the giant Whittemore mansion for the past two nights (their CPS case worker, Ms. Martin, said that was best for Isaac, though, and so they had stayed there. But staying there makes Nolan feel as though Stiles and Jackson are just going to reappear, even though he knows they're not).

He spends most of the funeral watching Isaac sleep. He's usually uncomfortable around babies – not because he doesn't know how to take care of them (he's a scientist – caring for an infant's general needs really isn't too difficult), but because he's always been too afraid of doing something wrong. Though he's been told that he's a fine, upstanding, responsible, and all-around nice guy, he's not generally a good . . . comforter. Brett, though, will just take Isaac and wrap his arms completely around him, like a strong, warm cocoon, and rock him gently until he quiets. It still shocks him, seeing Brett hold a screaming baby like it's not even a big deal. When Isaac cries, Nolan tries to fix the issue and when there's no issue and Isaac's just crying, he feels frustrated and confused and – oh, God, Stiles, why did you pick us.

After the graveside service, everyone goes back to the mansion for a meal – Nolan has no idea where all this food came from, but he suspects it has something to do with Stiles's and Jackson's female friends and coworkers, who've spent most of their time today crying and mother-hening Brett, Nolan, and the baby.

Isaac wakes up and Nolan feeds him some applesauce, and then just sits on the couch in the parlor with Isaac sitting beside him, kicking his chubby little legs and clutching a stuffed rabbit. After a while, Brett comes into the room.

Nolan stares at him for a second, then goes back to looking at Isaac, who's babbling to himself. This situation with Brett is incredibly awkward. It would be bad enough if Nolan was entrusted with this child by himself, but he's stuck with having to make decisions with Brett, too? But, he has to admit that things with Brett haven't been as bad as they could be. Mostly, they're both too shaken by the loss of their best friends to argue. Or even talk to each other, really.

Brett sits down in a chair across from the couch. "We have to figure out what we're going to do with Isaac," he says quietly.

Nolan nods in agreement, and Brett continues, "There aren't many choices, really. Stiles’ parents had passed, and he was an only child. But there's Jackson’s sister."

Nolan shakes his head. "She'll be busy with a baby of her own soon, and she told me that she doesn't think she can take care of Isaac, too," he says. It had been so odd at the funeral, seeing Malia in a somber navy-blue dress, her belly swelling outwards like a soccer ball. She'd been accompanied by a guy with tan skin and curly brown-black hair, and had been crying so hard that she could barely be understood. From what Nolan could gather, though, Malia lives in some kind of commune in California, with the Scott, a Hispanic stripper, and a handful of other people. "Besides, she lives in some kind of – hippie tent city or something. Jackson and Stiles probably wouldn't have . . . yeah." To be honest, he's surprised that Jackson had never hopped a plane to California and forced his baby sister to come back to New York where he could keep an eye on her.

"Shit," Brett mutters. "Well, I don't think Jackson has any living family besides her . . ."

Nolan shook his head. "Nope." Maybe that's why they picked us in the first place, he thinks to himself. Neither Jackson nor Stiles had any responsible, close family members to really choose from. That's sad.

"You know what this means, don't you, Freckles?" Brett asks, and Nolan winces. Here we go. "We don't have anyone to give him to."

"We could let CPS figure something out . . ."

Brett stares at him as though he's suggested that they sacrifice Isaac to the ancient spirit gods. "We're not letting them put him into a foster home, Nolan."

"He's so young, though," Nolan says. "He's still a baby. Someone might adopt him."

"Or they might not," Brett points out. "Nolan, do you really want to never see or hear about him ever again? Jackson and Stiles trusted us with him. We can't just give him to Child Protective Services."

Nolan blinks, astonished. Something about the mention of foster care has suddenly animated Brett. Isaac starts cooing louder next to Nolan, and Nolan almost absentmindedly reaches over and tugs the child into his lap.

Brett looks at Isaac, then at Nolan. "Look," he says, "I'm willing to take him off your hands if you want. I don't have the money, but Jackson and Stiles have got that covered for him, since Jackson is – . . . was loaded. I can figure out what to do on my own. But I kind of get the feeling you want to keep him, too, Freckles. Even if you just want to do it for . . . Stiles and Jackson."

Nolan is silent for a moment, thinking. Brett watches him, waiting for an answer. Finally, Nolan says, "You know that if we're going to take care of him – for now – we'll probably have to live here."

Brett gestures around the room, but Nolan can tell he means the mansion in general. "This house could hold a zillion of us."

"There's no such thing as a 'zillion'," Nolan points out.

"Shut up, Freckles," Brett replies without missing a beat.

Nolan almost smiles, which is bizarre, since this is Brett he's talking to. Brett, who insults him at every opportunity, who has a reputation for doing whatever he. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to do this," Nolan murmurs, looking down at Isaac, who's squirming, bored with the situation.

Brett stands up. "Come on, Freckles," he says. "We'd better go tell Malia that she won't have to adopt him. I think she'll be a little bit relieved."

"Probably," Nolan agrees, standing up as well. Malia has never seemed like the mothering type, which makes it ten times more bizarre that she's going to have and keep a baby of her own. But hey, that's not really Nolan's business. ". . . Will you tell Malia?"

Brett smirks at him. "Yeah, I heard things are still weird between you and her ever since you came out," he says. "How'd you get a girl like her in the first place? Because she's pretty, even if she is kinda weird."

Nolan glares at him and adjusts his grip on Isaac. "Are things still weird between you and that Tracy girl?" he retorts without thinking. If this were anyone else, he'd probably just take their teasing, but Brett seems to have the innate ability to annoy anyone he meets, especially Nolan.

Brett groans. "God, don't mention her," he says. "It's been two years, why can't everyone just forget I dated her."

"She was a little crazy," Nolan reminds as they head for the door. "But at least she doesn't call you twenty times a day anymore. You remember, I could hardly talk to you on that date for your phone ringing over and over."

Brett gives him a deadpan look. "Nolan, don't be dumb. I'd already pissed you off by being an hour late. You didn't really want to talk to me on that date anyways."

Nolan pauses. "Touche."

The next day, Nolan and Brett have a meeting with the CPS caseworker, a surprisingly young and attractive but nevertheless dead-serious woman named Lydia Martin. They sit with her in the parlor, while Isaac sits on the floor and plays with some toys.

She asks them questions about what they do and seems particularly pleased with Nolan's response – "I, uh, work at the university – in the literature department. I have a PhD– but is less happy with Brett's – "I'm a coach at the local private school."

After a rather thorough questioning about their backgrounds (during which Nolan learns that Brett is an orphan, and spent nearly all of his formative years in foster homes, which sort of explains his obvious unease about CPS) and lifestyles (Brett neglects to mention his motorcycle and the weird hours he keeps), Ms. Martin finally comes right out and asks it. "You are both gay, correct?"

Nolan nods, and Brett says, "Yep."

She gives them both a searching look. "You two aren't involved, are you?"

They both say hastily, "No."

"Well, we did go on one blind date," Nolan babbles. "But –,"

"But it sucked," Brett finishes.

"Because of him," Nolan clarifies.

Brett gave him a look. "You're just trying to make me look bad," he said. "Alright, I'll admit it, I was kind of rude to him and I was late. But he's the one who got his panties in a wad over it and made the whole night go south."

"I did not. And I don't wear panties."

"It's a figure of speech, Frec— Nolan. Although, you know what they say, the guilty dog barks –"

Ms. Martin cuts them off. "Okay, okay, calm down!" she says, loudly enough that they stop bickering. On the floor, Isaac giggles, as though something very funny has just transpired. "I'm glad you guys aren't involved, and in fact, I would strongly advise against it. Things could get awkward and unpleasant if you got together and you broke up or something, and it wouldn't be a good situation for Isaac. Or for the two of you, either. But you two care about Isaac, you seem to be responsible young men –" she glances at Brett in particular, and he fidgets with the zipper of his leather jacket, "– and obviously Mr. Stilinski and Mr. Whittemore thought very highly of you."

Nolan nods. "So . . . we can keep Isaac?"

"There will need to be other meetings, of course," Lydia says. "I'll have to monitor you for a while – just to make sure that things are working out and that you haven't changed your minds about doing this. But for now, he can stay with you two. If you two have any questions whatsoever, please call me – here's my card . . . oh, and I suggest you guys figure out a way to split your schedules or hire a nanny or something. The office will call to arrange another meeting for next month. But anyway, my business is done here for today."

"Okay," Brett says. "Thanks, Mrs. Martin." He actually smiles at her, clearly hoping to make up for her not-so-great first impression of him. Nolan has to admit, Brett's handsome face, when lit up with a rare, non-sarcastic smile, is rather hard to resist.

Ms. Martin gives him a deadpan look and says, "You're welcome, Mr. Talbot. Would one of you please walk me out? This place is like a castle."

"I'll walk you out," Brett volunteers.

"Thanks," she says. "Goodbye, Mr. Holloway."

"Goodbye, Ms. Martin," Nolan says, smiling awkwardly after her.

Brett returns from walking Lydia out a few moments later. "Damn, I almost got lost myself," he says. "This house is so huge."

Nolan nods in agreement, watching as Brett goes over and sits on the floor next to Isaac, who smiles at the blond and burbles in baby talk. "We should probably hurry and set up a calendar or a schedule or something, so that one of us can always be with Isaac. I don't think we'll need to hire a nanny – Jackson and Stiles already had that girl as their regular babysitter, so if we can figure out when we're both busy and whatnot . . ."

Brett nods and reaches out to chuck Isaac's chin, making the baby giggle. "Alright, sure thing. Let's schedule everything together. Ooh, don't you just quiver with excitement at the very thought?"

"You are such a child."

"Well, you're a nerd. So deal with it and let's get a freaking calendar."

A month passes with relatively little incident. They fall into a bit of a routine and divide up duties that involve Isaac. They spend most of their time together snarking at each other (well, Brett snarks and mocks, Nolan gets offended or irritated or both), but that's really nothing new.

Then comes one Friday when things get a little ugly.

Well, some things are the opposite of ugly, in Nolan's opinion, because Brett is standing next to the calendar wearing his sweats, school shirt, and a whistle around his neck. Nolan is distracted by the way the shirt hugs his muscular arms.However, Nolan really needs to focus on the argument they're currently having.

Brett taps the date on the calendar. "See? Look. Playoffs. I know I've told you at least three times that it was today. I can't bring him."

"But – but I have a meeting," Nolan protests. "An important annual meeting – everyone's going to be there. We're going to discuss –"

"Well, you didn't write it on the – . . . oh. Literature Department Annual Meeting," Brett says, brow knitting. "Well, call Quinn."

"I can't," Nolan says. "Her family's on vacation this week, remember? One of us has to take him, and I can't take a one-year-old to a meeting full of my colleagues!"

"I can't coach a lacrosse game with a baby on my hip!" Brett argues, glaring at Nolan. As if on cue, Isaac lets out a shriek from his playpen in the other room, and Nolan tenses – however, no crying follows it, so Nolan assumes it's just one of the random, ear-splitting yells that Isaac likes to let out at inopportune times.

"Fine," Nolan sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. "I'll take him. But if I get yelled at or something, I will – I will not be happy, that's for sure."

Brett grins triumphantly and then has the nerve to slap Nolan on the arm as he passes by on his way out. "Thanks, Nolan. Bye, Isaac!" he shouts.

In response, Isaac happily lets out another loud yell, and Nolan sighs. "Here we go . . ."

Nolan is already asleep at two o'clock in the morning when his phone starts ringing. He groans but sits up, fumbles on his glasses, picks up the phone, and checks the caller ID. The name 'Brett' is flashing at him rather obnoxiously.

"Hello?" he says, voice thick with sleep. "Brett, what –?"

"Come open the door," Brett says. His voice is a little heavier than normal, but not from sleep, Nolan can tell. "M'locked out, dunno where my key is."

"Oh, jeez," Nolan sighs. "Alright, I'm coming." He hangs up with more viciousness than his phone probably deserves, but he figures, who wouldn't be annoyed at being woken up at nearly two A.M. by their inconsiderate brat of a parenting partner?

He heads downstairs, stumbling slightly on the stairs in his sleepy state. He flicks on the light in the foyer, then opens the door. Brett is leaning against the wall by the door, humming some song that Nolan doesn't know.

"Where are your keys?" Nolan queries, clearly annoyed, as he steps aside to let Brett come in. "Are you drunk? You do realize what time it is, don't you?"

"One question at a time, " Brett says, rolling his eyes. "My keys are . . . shit, I dunno, probably left 'em somewhere. I took a cab home, cuz I went out to celebrate with the assistant coach . . . I'm a little bit tipsy, maybe."

"Sounds like you're more than a little tipsy," Nolan says. He's still annoyed, but when Brett starts fumbling with his tie as though he's unsure of how to get it off, Nolan takes pity on him and steps closer, bats the artist's hands aside, and unknots the tie for him. "The game went well, then?"

Brett grins. "We won, 5-0."

Nolan can't help but smile. "That's great," he says. "

Brett shucks off his jacket and drops it on the floor carelessly. "How'd your Super Genius Convention go?"

"It wasn't a 'genius convention'," Nolan says. "Just a meeting. It was marred a little bit by a screaming child."

Brett snorts. "That's Isaac for you."

Nolan sighs in agreement. "I tried to get one of the department secretaries who was there to watch him for me, but he started crying when I left and wouldn't stop, so she came in, handed him to me, said, 'Here's your rug-rat', and walked off. So I spent the rest of the time trying to keep him quiet and explaining to everyone when and how I suddenly became a 'single father'."

Brett laughs. "Don't act like it was so bad. I bet everyone felt sorry for you." 

"Your fine motor skills are really off when you're drunk," Nolan comments, as he automatically un-tucks the shirt from Brett's pants so that the blond can take it off. And then, Nolan freezes.

He's helping Brett take his shirt off. He's essentially undressing Brett. And Brett is standing close to him, and he's wearing a tight white undershirt and he has really nice arms. As in, really great arms.

There's a moment of silence where Nolan processes all of this and stares at Brett's muscular arms and broad shoulders. Brett just looks at Nolan, watching his face with a cockily raised eyebrow.

"You have a tattoo," Nolan states abruptly, because it's true, and because he'd never known before. It's a wold.

He forces himself to stop staring at Brett's arms and chest and shoulders, because it's really inappropriate and he's enjoying it a little too much.

Brett reaches out, takes one of Nolan's hands, and gently tugs, until the tips of Nolan's long fingers brush the cool metal of Brett's belt buckle.

Nolan stiffens slightly. Brett's eyes are a little darker, a little heavier than Nolan remembers them being normally, and his lips are parted ever so slightly.

"Maybe I could make it up to you," Brett murmurs, "for waking you up and getting you out of bed . . . I know you were pissed when you came down here."

Nolan gulps. He's not going to lie – he's an adult male with healthy testosterone levels. He's tempted. Just a little. But he's not tempted enough to do something with Brett, the guy who generally annoys the hell out of him. The guy who is also clearly drunker than he's willing to let on, if he's actually propositioning Nolan right now.

"You're drunk," Nolan mutters, moving his hand away from Brett's waist. "We – I – I think you can manage your pants. Or you can sleep in them."

Brett smirks rather sarcastically. "Your loss," he says, shaking his head. "I get it, though. That Martin chick did tell us not to get involved. You fucking me would be a little involved."

Nolan chokes a little at that. "Brett –,"

"No, I get it," Brett says, stepping away from Nolan and walking around him. "Your loss, though, Freckles," he calls as he heads up the stairs, stumbling only a bit as he goes.

Nolan is left standing in the foyer at two o'clock in the morning, mulling over the fact that he just willingly passed up sex with a slightly drunk, quite willing, attractive man. He's pretty sure he should have been able to forget the whole "I kind of don't like you, there's a sleeping child upstairs" situation for long enough to take advantage of that opportunity.

The next day, Brett doesn't mention what happened. He doesn't mention it the day after that, either, nor does he bring it up once in the two months that follow. He remembers it fairly well afterwards – not well enough to recall exactly what had been said, but enough to know that he had basically offered a quick lay to Nolan and been rejected. He's not about to say, "Hey, I've been told I'm pretty good-looking. Why didn't you want to screw me?" He's also got too much of a reputation to uphold to say, "Yeah, so when I've been drinking I get horny, and you looked kind of sexy with your 1960s button-up PJs and your bed-head. And you were also staring at me and taking my clothes off but still acting like your usual uptight dork self, which is why it makes no sense that I wanted to do anything with you in the first place."

But if Brett doesn't bring it up, Nolan doesn't exactly seem to want to broach the subject either. So their routine from the first month resumes; they both work and take care of Isaac. Brett spends his time with practices, and Nolan spends his free time . . . working on more nerdy stuff for his work. They do start bathing and playing with Isaac together, because for whatever reason, the baby seems to enjoy it when they interact with him together.

However, some duties they still handle separately, simply because of scheduling issues (since Nolan spends way too much time at his job). Like, for instance, it falls to Brett to take Isaac to the doctor for shots, which sucks because Brett is not good at dealing with doctors or anything like that. Isaac he can handle with ease – but paperwork and medical talk are practically impossible for him to understand.

It does help, however, that Isaac's pediatrician is young, handsome, suave, and judging by his left ring finger, unmarried, and judging by his flirting, interested.

Brett has been talking to (and shamelessly flirting with) Dr. Dunbar for nearly twenty minutes after Isaac's vaccinations are through before he even remembers the time. "Oh, Jesus," Brett says, glancing at the clock. "I must be holding you up. I'm sorry."

"No, no, Isaac was my last patient of the day," Dr. Dunbar says, with a warm smile that reveals all of his even, white teeth. "It's no problem, Mr. Talbot."

Brett says automatically, "Oh, call me Brett."

Dr. Dunbar nods. "Then call me Liam."

 

Brett can feel his cheeks reddening slightly. ""Shit. I've gotta go, because if Nolan gets home before I do, he'll probably flip and think something's wrong with the baby."

Liam suddenly looks slightly disappointed, and Brett thinks, yes. Totally interested. "Nolan? Is that your . . . partner?" the doctor asks, his tone curious.

Brett shakes his head. "Oh, no," he says, "he's just Isaac's other guardian. It's kind of a long story . . . but I'm single, actually."

Liam smiles. "Well, in that case," he says, "would you like to go out sometime?"

Brett blinks, surprised. Well, damn. Finally, someone who just comes right the hell out and asks. Brett grins. "Sure, Doc."

Nolan should not be this preoccupied with what Brett is doing. It's kind of unhealthy, actually.

Isaac is already tuckered out and in bed, sound asleep, and Nolan should really be working or cleaning up Isaac's toys or something, but here he is, sitting in the living room on the first floor, where he can see out the window when Brett comes home. He's at least trying to read, but he keeps glancing up every few minutes, looking for the familiar headlight of Brett's motorcycle.

It's 10:30 when Brett finally shows up. He walks through the foyer and heads past the open door to the living room, but pauses when he notices Nolan sitting on the couch. "'Sup, Freckles. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Nolan rolls his eyes. "I don't have a bedtime," he mutters. "How did your date go?"

Brett smirks. "Pretty great. Liam's really cool."

 

"So you guys are friends," Nolan clarifies, turning his gaze back to the science journal in his lap but keeping his ears pricked for Brett's response.

"Well, for now we are," Brett says. "I guess once we have sex it'll be a bit more than that, won't it?"

Nolan barely avoids choking on air at that. This is stupid, I do not care if he sleeps with Isaac's pediatrician, he tells himself firmly.

"I would have gone back to his place tonight, but he told me he has to get up early tomorrow," Brett continues. "Because of the whole 'doctor' thing."

"Oh," he says. "Cool."

"'Cool'?" Brett repeats, and something in his surprised tone makes Nolan look up from the article he's been fake-reading. "You never say 'cool' about anything. It's always some fancier word like 'spectacular' or 'wonderful' or something."

"So I'm not allowed to say something is cool?"

"No, you can say whatever you want, Freckles," Brett says, shrugging. "Anyway, how was the baby tonight?"

"Fine, of course," Nolan replies. "I tried bribing him to walk all evening. It didn't work."

"He still just stands there and giggles at you?"

"Yes. I guess we'll just have to wait for him to start on his own."

"Guess so," Brett agrees. He pauses, then says to Nolan, "Well, Freckles, I'm gonna go shower and go to bed. 'Night, I guess."

"Night," Nolan echoes, as Brett turns and walks off.

Nolan's twenty-sixth birthday falls a week later. He doesn't mention it to Brett, mostly because he's not one to beg for attention, but also because things have been a little awkward between the two of them ever since Brett's date with Liam/Dr. Dunbar..) Fortunately, Brett hasn't gone on a second date with Liam yet, but Nolan doesn't know if he has plans to. 

He comes in after work on his birthday to find Brett in the kitchen, feeding Isaac an early dinner. Isaac has food smeared all over his face, and Nolan just smiles slightly and shakes his head at the sight. "Hey."

Brett turns, and then frowns when he sees Nolan. "Hey, birthday boy."

Nolan blinks. "How did you know . . .?"

"Your mother called and left a message," Brett says, rolling his eyes and pointing at the kitchen phone.

"Oh," Nolan sighs.

"She said to tell you happy birthday," Brett says, "and she wants you to call her back. But anyway, you didn't tell me that it was today, Freckles."

Nolan sighs at that infuriating nickname, and then says, "Alright, it's my birthday. What of it?"

Brett rolls his eyes again. "What kind of an asshole do you take me for? . . . Don't answer that. Anyway, I'm taking you out to celebrate, you dweeb."

Nolan frowns. "Your idea of 'celebrating' is probably different from what I would find enjoyable, so –,"

Brett cuts him off. "Relax, I'm not going to take you to a bar or anything. Just to dinner, at your choice of restaurant. And don't worry about Isaac, because I already called Quinn and she'll be here at 6:00."

Nolan sighs, well aware that any argument he could make right now will be ignored. "Oh, alright."

"Okay, then. Now go change."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Nolan asks, miffed.

 

Quinn, the thirteen-year-old babysitter, arrives promptly at 6:00, and watches Nolan and Brett get ready to leave while holding Isaac on her bony hip.

"Have a nice night," she says, looking in particular at Nolan, her smile a little too bright. "And happy birthday."

"Thank you, Quinn," Nolan replies, smiling back. "If you need us –,"

"Call us," Brett cuts him off. "She knows the drill, Nolan, Jesus. Later, Quinn."

Quinn waves at them, and Isaac waves and burbles something as Nolan and Brett head out the front door. They make it to the driveway, but instead of heading for Nolan’s, Brett leads the way to his bike.

Nolan stops dead. "Oh, no."

Brett turns to grin at him. "Don't be such a pu—,"

"I'm not a – a – I'm not," Nolan stammers, shaking his head vigorously. "I'm not riding that thing."

"Please?" Brett says, jingling his keys. "I've got a helmet for you. And I'm a safe driver. I just want you to experience your first ever motorcycle ride, and your birthday is the perfect time to do it."

"No."

"Pretty please?"

Did he really just say 'pretty please'? "Oh, God, fine," Nolan caves, stomach fluttering with nerves, because while he trusts Brett, he doesn't trust the bike. He puts on the helmet that Brett gives him, a large black thing that makes him feel incredibly stupid-looking, and then gets onto the bike behind Brett.

It isn't as awkward as it should be, sitting chest-to-back with Brett with his arms wrapped tightly around Brett's narrow waist, but that's probably because Nolan is terrified right now. But Brett is surprisingly kind about the whole thing, going more slowly than he normally does. Thankfully, it only takes about twenty minutes to get to Nolan's favorite restaurant, so Nolan's terror is fairly short-lived.

They make their way inside, and Brett inquires as soon as they're seated, "So what does this place serve, anyways?"

"Italian food," Nolan says, tapping the words 'Ristorante Italiano' on the front of the menu.

"You should try their chicken parmesan," Nolan suggests. "It's really great."

"Does it involve tomatoes?"

"Yes. You don't like tomatoes?"

"I'm allergic, Nolan."

" . . . Oh. I didn't know that."

"Yeah," Brett says. "So if you ever get sick of me calling you 'Freckles' and you want to do me in, slip some tomatoes into my food. My throat will swell right up."

That shouldn't be funny, but Nolan can't help but laugh. "I'll keep that in mind," he says.

 

The conversation progresses and flows smoothly from there, and by the time the waitress brings them their check, Nolan's cheeks are pleasantly flushed from laughter. All in all, Nolan's celebratory birthday dinner had been a success, and Nolan had actually enjoyed it .

Nolan reaches for the check, but Brett smacks his hand away. "Hey," the blond man says. "No. Your birthday, my treat."

Nolan is abruptly grateful for the dim lighting in the restaurant, because while its purpose is to make things feel intimate, it works well to hide his blush. "No, really, Brett, I can pay for mine."

"No," Brett says firmly, shaking his head. "I've got it, Nolan, really."

Nolan smiles slightly. "Then I should have ordered something more expensive."

Brett laughs. "You wouldn't be that big of an ass."

"You're right, I wouldn't," Nolan agrees, still smiling. "Thanks, Brett. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," Brett says, with a nod. He pauses in the process of getting out his wallet, looking at Nolan with a thoughtful expression.

"What?" Nolan asks, cheeks heating up again under the scrutiny.

"We're going somewhere after this, okay?" Brett says, nodding.

"Uh, okay," Nolan says, checking his watch. "But it's already just past 8:00 –,"

"Quinn doesn't have to be home until 10:00," Brett reminds. "Besides, it won't take too long to get to the place I have in mind."

Brett is admittedly a little nervous as he parks the bike next to the curb.

“Brett, why are we at a park?” Nolan asked taking his helmet off and following the blonde towards the swings.

“This is where I like to come when I need to clear my head.” He replies sitting in the leather seat looking up at the star filled sky. “It is also the place I first met Jackson. We were about ten, and I had a huge fight with my foster family at the time. It was just a few weeks after the accident with my parents and Lori, I was not in the best of places.”

Nolan didn’t have any words to convey his thoughts, so he reached for Brett’s hand. His thumb running over the tan knuckles as the two stared at the sky, neither knowing how long they stayed like that thinking of their departed friends.

 

"You know," Brett says once Nolan's returned to the mansion after driving Quinn home, "that Quinn has a huge crush on you, right?"

"What?" Nolan says laughingly, dropping his keys onto the kitchen table.

"She does," Brett says as he pours two glasses of wine. "I'm pretty sure she's convinced that she can convert you to heterosexuality or something."

Nolan blushes and rolls his eyes. "She's a kid, and literally half my age. That's creepy."

Brett snorts. "Try telling that to Quinn."

Nolan takes a sip of wine and hums slightly as though he's appreciating the taste. "Is the baby in bed?"

Brett rolls his eyes. "Of course, Nolan." He sets his wine glass on the counter, heads to the pantry, opens the door, and comes back with a store-bought red velvet cake. "Hell yeah, right?"

Nolan sighs. "This is why I don't let you shop. You go out and buy cookies and cakes."

"Don't act so high and mighty, I catch you sneaking cookies all the time," Brett teases as he gets the cake out, retrieves a knife, and cuts two slices. "Wanna go watch TV or something?"

"Sure," Nolan says, with a shrug.

So that's how, an hour later, Nolan and Brett end up sitting on the couch in the library, watching a bunch of scary orange people fight with each other and dance on TV. They've polished off the bottle of wine, and under the influence, the insanity of the television show is positively hilarious. Brett isn't too drunk, but Nolan, it turns out, is really a complete lightweight and titters at everything that's said when he's drunk.

In between bouts of laughter and television-related comments, the conversation gradually works its way back to their infamous "disaster date".

"Tell me," Brett says, "what you thought when I was an hour late."

"I thought," Nolan replies, slurring his words slightly, "that you were a total dick for not calling or anything."

Brett laughs. "I was, I was. Sorry. I don't even remember why I was late, to be honest."

"Dick," Nolan mutters, and Brett laughs again.

"What did you think when you first saw me?" Nolan asks after a moment. "Did Stiles and Jackson . . . show you a picture or anything?"

"No," Brett responds. "Stiles just told me you were blonde, muscular-ish, and handsome."

"Handsome," Nolan scoffs.

"You are handsome, Freckles," Brett says, frowning at him. "Don't beat yourself up so much. But anyway, I thought you looked . . . kind of adorable, to be honest. Don't tell anyone I said that, though. And I did think you were handsome, for the record."

"Thank you," Nolan murmurs, reaching for his wine glass and frowning upon finding it empty. He leans back again with a sigh. He's slouched in the seat so that his leg and shoulder are resting against Brett's. Brett doesn't mind the contact, and in fact, he's leaning up against Nolan, too.

"What did you think about me?" Brett asks, as onscreen an ad for KY Jelly plays. He's honestly curious. He wants to know what Nolan thought, what Nolan thinks, what makes Nolan tick.

Nolan sighs, gaze on the TV. "I thought you were sexy."

Brett blinks, surprised. "Sexy?"

"Yeah," the normally prim and proper brunet says. "Sexy. With your mussed-up hair and that leather jacket and your . . . swagger."

Brett laughs at that, but quietly, for once not wanting to offend Nolan. "You trying to make me blush, Nolan?"

"No," Nolan says. "I'm being serious. If you hadn't been such a dick, I would have . . ."

Brett pauses, waiting for Nolan to finish, but the other man trails off, his cheeks reddening.

"You would have what?" the younger man prompts, voice softening.

Nolan's deep blue eyes meet Brett's own, and the brunet is silent for a moment, before he murmurs, "I would have probably . . . fucked you."

Brett isn't fully sure what exactly makes him kiss Nolan then. Maybe it's the heady look in those dark eyes, or the rare dirty word coming from Nolan, or maybe it's the way those full pink lips are tinged red from cake and wine, or maybe it's because he's finally found out that, on some level at least, Nolan is attracted to him. But kiss Nolan he does, leaning forward so that his lips gently brush the scientist's.

Nolan is still for a second, his lips warm and immobile against Brett's, but then he abruptly responds, kissing back with more skill than Brett would have expected. One second, Nolan is merely kissing back, and then the next thing Brett knows, Nolan's tongue is coming out to play, and okay, that's definitely not bad at all.

Brett may be drunker than he thought he was, because he feels warm and hungry, and holy shit, we're officially making out right now, he thinks, amazed. Nolan shifts so that he's even closer to Brett, turning towards him so that their knees press together a little uncomfortably, but Brett doesn't really mind, because after some more kissing, Nolan starts mouthing eagerly at his neck, breathing heavily and even licking at Brett's adam's apple.

"Jesus," Brett gasps, head tipping back. "Freckles – where'd you learn to make out like this –?"

Nolan doesn't answer, just kisses the mole on Brett's neck. Brett grunts, low in his throat, and pulls Nolan's face up so that they can kiss again. Brett gives everything he's got, eager for more kisses, suddenly eager to get as much of Nolan as he can get while it's being offered. He moves so that he's essentially in Nolan's lap, wrapping his arms around Nolan's shoulders. He's never before experienced such a sudden want. Or, maybe, the want has been there all along, but it's taken the press of Nolan's sweet lips against his own to awaken it.

"Brett," Nolan breathes against his mouth. Brett pulls back ever so slightly, worried, but then one of Nolan's hands is on his ass, and the other is sliding up to cup his cheek and bring him back in.

"Yeah, Nolan," he murmurs against Nolan's lips, as all doubt flies out the window. "Yeah . . ."

Nolan wakes up the next morning feeling groggy and generally disgusting. He spends a few moments just lying there, eyes shut, breathing slowly and trying to get his brain to function properly. 

He can tell that he's on the small couch in the library. He's also stark naked, but a blanket has mysteriously appeared over him.

"Oh, God," he moans, before noticing his underwear and pants tangled together on the floor by the couch. He gets up long enough to tug them on and then sits back down on the couch to mull over just what the hell he did last night.

I slept with Brett last night.

This is not good, in Nolan's opinion. For one thing, Nolan doesn't get drunk and have sloppy sex on a couch, ever. And he certainly shouldn't have had sex with Brett, the jerk who may or may not have taken advantage of Nolan's inebriation.

This is my fault, Nolan groans internally. I shouldn't have gone to dinner with him in the first place. He made me feel all comfortable with him and then I actually got drunk, which was so dumb, and now God only knows how awkward things are going to be. Ms. Martin warned us not to do something like this . . .

Just then, a knock on the library door interrupts his thoughts. "Nolan? Are you . . . dressed?"

It's Brett, of course. "Uh," Nolan stammers, tugging the blanket up to hide his bare chest, which is pointless because it's not like Brett hasn't seen him fully naked now, and plus, his chest isn't even one of his least favorite body parts. "Um, yes."

The door opens, and Brett steps in. He's already in a fresh outfit and is holding Isaac on his hip. The child is already dressed for the day as well. Nolan glances at his watch quickly – it's nearly 10:30, the latest he's slept in ages. Thank God it's a Saturday, so no work, at least.

"Morning," Brett says, smirking slightly. Nolan's cheeks flame, and he mutters an awkward 'good morning' in response.

"So, I know you're probably feeling kind of crappy," Brett says, "but you've got to go shower and change. And do it fast."

"Why . . .?" Nolan says, confused.

"Because the caseworker's going to be here soon," Brett says. "Monthly check-up . . . I would have totally forgotten, too, if I hadn't seen it on the calendar."

"Oh, God," Nolan says, jumping up and dropping the blanket. He hurries toward the door, fully intending to run upstairs and leap into the shower, but he pauses for a second, having abruptly noticed something.

"Brett," he says, "your neck."

Brett blinks, confused. "What?"

"You're – . . . you've got two hickeys."

Brett rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I noticed them earlier. You ravished my neck like some kind of animal."

Nolan shakes his head, forcing himself not to respond to that. ". . . Shouldn't you hide them?"

"Hide them? I'm not a sixteen-year-old girl, I don't exactly have any cover-up."

"Wear a scarf," Nolan suggests.

"But I don't own any scarves!" Brett groans. "God, Nolan, just go get in the shower!"

By the time Nolan's gotten a quick shower, changed clothes, and slurped down a scalding hot cup of coffee, Lydia Martin is ringing the doorbell. Nolan waits with Isaac in the parlor while Brett goes and gets the door.

Lydia comes in and offers the standard greetings. Isaac smiles adorably at the sight of her, as though trying to butter her up for the sake of his caregivers.

Nolan's all prepared to just act normal, but he should have known better than to think he could get anything past this sharp-eyed social worker. She stares at Brett's neck for a few second. Something in Nolan's expression must give away his guilt in the matter, because she abruptly sighs, "Oh, Lord."

"What?" Brett says.

Lydia sighs. "Could you two be any more obvious? You have two bite marks on your neck, and you look so uncomfortable right now that you look constipated."

Brett gives Nolan a sideways look. "Your poker face sucks."

Nolan looks away, sheepish. "I, uh . . ."

Brett sighs. "Okay, we did it. We were drunk and it just happened."

Ms. Martin shakes her head. "But if it can happen once, it can happen again. I'm sure I don't have to tell you what can happen when two people start having sex. Eventually, there will be feelings involved."

"No, there won't," Nolan says quickly, shaking his head. "No feelings. And it won't happen again. Ever again."

Nolan can feel Brett's eyes on him, but he forces himself to not look sideways and meet his gaze. Lydia looks back and forth between the two of them. "Are you sure?" she inquires. "Because you guys have to be serious about this. You need to either get together . . . or don't. And if you get together, stay together. Anything else will just turn out badly for everyone involved, especially for Isaac."

"We understand," Nolan says, with a nod. She's right. Of course she's right.

"Yeah," Brett says, voice flat and toneless. "We read you loud and clear."

Ms. Martin nods. "Alright," she says, although she doesn't look quite convinced. "So anyway . . ."

The rest of the meeting, their second to last, doesn't take too long. Nolan glances sideways at Brett once or twice, but Brett seems to be refusing to look at him. Lydia leaves without bringing up the awkward situation again, which is, in Nolan's opinion, merciful of her.

After she's gone, Brett and Nolan just sit there for a moment, both silent. Brett is just watching Isaac. and is still refusing to look at Nolan. Nolan just doesn't know what to say, or even if he should say anything at all.

Finally, Brett says, "Nolan."

"Uh, yes?"

"Is that how you really feel?" Brett questions, his tone blank. "What you said to her, I mean. Is that how you feel?"

Nolan bites his lip. "Why are you asking?"

"Don't answer a fucking question with another question."

"Sorry."

Brett looks sideways at him, pauses, and then finally asks, "Do you even care how I feel about it?"

Nolan blinks. "I just – I assumed that you felt the same way."

"Yeah, well," Brett says, looking away, "maybe you shouldn't make assumptions."

Nolan frowns, utterly perplexed. "But – Brett – did last night . . . make you feel . . . differently? I mean, we're barely even . . ."

Brett's expression hardens even more. Across the room, Isaac has stopped babbling to himself and is watching them and frowning, as though he understands what's going on. "No," Brett says. "Of course not. Don't be fucking ridiculous. I'm just me, I don't ever feel anything. That's what you think of me, right?"

"What has gotten into you?" Nolan asks. "Brett – we aren't . . . like that. We . . . last night was a mistake. I thought that you thought so, too."

"I know you enjoyed it, Nolan. Don't say you didn't."

Nolan looks away. "That's not what I said. I meant that it shouldn't have happened, because now it's made everything – awkward . . . and . . ." He falters, unsure of what else to say, and, frankly, worried by the closed-off look on Brett's face. God, they really should have taught a class on how to deal with confrontations like this.

Brett stands up and heads for the door. "Alright. Whatever, Nolan." Isaac whimpers as he watches Brett leave, then turns to Nolan. Nolan, urged by some instinct he didn't know he'd grown to possess, extends his arms to the little boy, and Isaac crawls over. Nolan sits there and cradles Isaac to his chest for a long time, mulling things over. However, no amount of deep thought seems to be able to provide him with a simple solution for this particular problem.

It's only later when he walks past the kitchen and hears Brett on the phone ("Hey, Liam . . . yeah, sorry it took me so long to call you, I got, uh, busy – no, the other night was great . . . I just wanted to know if you're free . . .") that he realizes there might not be a clear way to fix this at all.

Almost two months later, Nolan is possibly on his way to losing it. So, he does the only thing he can think of – he seeks out some advice.

He doesn't want to call Malia at first -she's a great person and all, but he had kind of broken up with her by dropping the 'I'm gay' bomb, and he doesn't really know if she harbors any animosity towards him for it- and in fact, he doesn't even have her number saved in his phone contacts any more. But then he happens upon her name and number written in Stiles's neat handwriting in the address book by the kitchen phone. He's dialing the number before he even thinks about it.

The phone rings several times, leading Nolan to wonder how current the number is. But finally, someone picks up.

"Hello?" Malia answers. Her voice quivers slightly.

"Malia?" Nolan says hesitantly. "It's – uh – it's Nolan."

"Oh," she says, with a soft, shaky sigh. "I – I still have the phone number saved as Stiles's home number, so when that came up on the caller ID . . ."

Nolan hadn't even thought of that, but he can imagine the jolt she probably got from seeing that number pop up. "I'm so sorry," he says quickly. "I didn't mean to . . ."

"It's okay, Nolan," Malia says. She sounds bone tired, and all of a sudden, Nolan hears the wailing of a baby on the other end of the line.

"Oh, right!" Nolan says, horrified that he'd forgotten. "You had your baby!"

"Yeah," Malia says, distracted. "Hold on a sec, Nolan – Scott! A little help here, please? I'm on the phone!"

Nolan hears some muted talking, then the crying of the child fades out and Malia speaks again. "Sorry about that," she sighs. "Scott's a good dad, but I swear to God, if I don't pay attention to him for two seconds, I look up and he's off doing something else. It's like he just vanishes sometimes."

"How's the baby?" Nolan asks, both out of curiosity and to be polite.

"She's great," Malia says, with a slightly dreamy tone to her voice at the thought of her baby. "Her name's Allison. She acts more like Scott than me, but oh, well. Do you remember Scott? He came with me to – um . . ."

Please don't start crying, please don't start crying. "I remember him," Nolan says quickly.

There's a brief pause, and then Malia, who seems to have collected herself, says, "Uh, so . . . how're things? How's Isaac?"

"He's good, he's good," Nolan says. "He started walking not too long ago."

"That's great," Malia replies, and he can hear the smile in her voice. "He's such a cute kid. I hope I make it back to New York to see him again soon." She hesitates, and then asks, "I don't mean to be rude, Nolan, but – what's with the sudden call?"

Now Nolan doesn't know what to say. 'I just really need someone to vent to about personal problems, and the only friends I have are all socially-awkward nerds like me, so I called you, even though you're my ex-girlfriend and you live across the country now, because you're the only person I know who might know how to deal with guy-issues' just doesn't sound too great. "I . . . uh . . . I just wanted to catch up, that's all. I hope I'm not bothering you."

"No, Nolan, you're not," she says. "Is something wrong?"

Nolan bites his lip. "Um, kind of. Things aren't . . . so good here right now."

"Well, spit it out, Nolan. What's up?"

Good old Malia. "I – it's just – it's Brett."

"Let me guess, he's every bit the jerk I thought he was when I first met him?"

Nolan winces slightly. "He's not so bad," he says. "It's just – um . . ."

"Nolan, really, you can just say it. I'm not going to judge."

Nolan is kind of glad he can't see Malia's expression right now, because he's embarrassed enough as it is. "Ihadsexwithhim."

"You had sex with him?" There's a brief, slightly awkward pause. "What's the big deal, though? Did it really suck or something?"

"No," Nolan admits. For a moment he's not sure how to explain, but then suddenly, everything comes out in a rush. "But it happened about two months ago, and, uh, we got drunk and then we did it. Before we weren't even great friends or anything, because he's just so – snarky and antagonistic all the time. But things were okay, I guess. But then we had sex and our caseworker figured it out and told us to either commit to a relationship or never do it again, and I said we wouldn't because I knew that it would never work, but he felt differently about it and I didn't understand, and now . . ."

"Now what?" Malia prompts.

"Now everything's weird," Nolan sighs. "I just – Brett doesn't even talk to me anymore. I mean, we talk, but only about stuff that's related to Isaac or the house or bills. And we don't do anything together anymore, ever – he usually takes care of the baby during the day if he's not busy, and I do it at night and on the weekends, and when I've got Isaac he just leaves to either go to practice or go see his boyfriend –,"

"You sound like you're divorced," Malia says frankly. "You're divorced, but you're still living in the same house and taking care of your kid. Well, technically, someone else's kid that you're now responsible for."

Nolan doesn't want to admit to Malia that Isaac's grown to love Brett and Nolan as his parents. It might upset her, and he doesn't want that. "We can't be divorced if we were never together, though," Nolan points out. "But – I miss him, Malia."

"You miss him?" she asks. "How? What do you miss?"

"I miss – oh, I don't know. I miss him bugging me and calling me names and being an idiot in general, which is ironic, I know, since I used to hate the way he treated me – but at least back then he was talking to me on a regular basis. I miss eating breakfast and dinner with him and I miss giving Isaac baths with him . . . and it's just so ridiculous, but the other night, he fell asleep on the couch in the living room, and I just stood in the doorway and watched him for a few minutes, and I just felt like . . . holding him. And kissing him is all I think about sometimes."

Malia pauses, and then says, "It sounds like you might love him."

Nolan bites his lower lip, hard. "But I – I can't be in love with him. It makes no sense."

"Of course it doesn't," Malia says. "But, Nolan, think about it. You'd willingly put up with all his crap and shortcomings. It upsets you that he won't spend time with you. You want to be around him. And all the other stuff you said – it sounds kind of like love to me. I mean, I love Scott like that, even though I still want to smack him sometimes. Hell, I used to feel similarly about you."

"Don't say that, please," Nolan moaned. "Even if you did love me, we broke up!"

"Because you're gay and I'm female, Nolan," Malia points out, in the tone one would use for someone who is especially slow on the uptake. "But Brett is kind of in your target demographic, isn't he?"

. . . She has a point there.

"So if I've possibly fallen in love with him . . . what do I do?" Nolan asks softly. "He has a boyfriend now."

"How serious is it?"

"Serious enough that he spends the night a lot," Nolan mutters. He tries very hard to ignore the sudden spike of pure jealousy that statement inspires in him. "Brett is with him all the time. Either with him or at his office, at least."

"Well, if they've only been dating for, what, two months – I wouldn't worry too much. Just make your move and Mr. Boyfriend will be old news."

"But what if 'my move' doesn't work?" Nolan asks. "What if he doesn't actually feel anything for me at all, and he just hates me now?"

"Then you can always move out of the house and wait for them to break up," Malia suggests. "Maybe if you do that, he'll figure out that you're the guy he needs to be with. But, Nolan – for God's sakes, just man up and do something."

Nolan nods, before remembering that Malia can't see a nod over the phone. "Okay. Thanks so much, Malia."

"You're welcome. Oh, and Nolan? If you need to talk again, feel free to call me."

Nolan pauses, smiling ever so slightly to himself. It's nice to have a friend, even if they have a weird past together. Plus, he kind of gets the feeling that things with Brett aren't over yet. "Okay. Will do, Malia."

The next evening, Brett is alone on the field, staring at his lacrosse stick feeling the weight of it in his hands before flinging the ball into the goal.

Stupid ball. Stupid grass. Stupid goal. Stupid Nolan for just being stupid Nolan. Not stupid Isaac, he didn't do anything. Even stupid Liam, for not distracting him.

" . . . Brett?"

"Shit," the tall blonde turning on his heel.

Nolan is standing by the bleachers, looking nervous and holding a certain squirming blonde-haired child in his arms. Brett couldn't have been more surprised if Jesus and Elvis Presley had been standing there instead.

" . . . What?" he says slowly. Even he is aware of how wary his tone is, but he can't really help it. Things with Nolan haven't been good in a while now. Which sucks, a lot, but Brett honestly isn't sure what to do or say. His lack of experience with functional relationships combined with his upbringing in the unstable foster care system have screwed him over when it comes to handling issues with other people. Plus, Nolan being – Nolan doesn't help matters.

"I just – um – are you okay?" Nolan inquires. "I heard you cursing, and you've got dirt all over you . . .”  
Nolan bites his lower lip, an action which Brett thinks is a little bit adorable. Isaac starts wriggling in his arms again, and begins grabbing for collar. Nolan dodges the boy's tiny hands, and Brett bites back a smile. It's little things like that, Nolan biting his lip or Isaac messing with Nolan, that make Brett feel "warm and fuzzy on the inside". It's such clichéd, girly bullshit to Brett, but it's true.

"Well?" Brett prompts after a moment. "Did you have a reason for coming here and interrupting me?"

"I just wanted to see if, um – you wanted to go out to dinner," Nolan says, his pale cheeks turning pink. "I tried calling, but your phone's probably off or something."

Nolan knows him too well – his phone is off, as usual. But it's shocking that Nolan got the nerve to come ask face-to-face. Brett just blinks at him for several seconds, surprised. ". . . You want me to go to dinner with you?"

"Uh, yes," Nolan stammers. "I figured we could all, um, go somewhere and you and I could, um, talk . . ."

Talk about what? Brett wants to ask. How fucking weird things are between us? Or maybe we'll talk about how we could almost pass for a family together – you, me, and our baby. Yeah, right.

"Uh," Brett says slowly, "well. Thanks for the offer. But I'm going out with Liam tonight."

Nolan pauses. " . . . Oh."

"And I'm staying over afterwards," Brett adds, just in case Nolan's about to suggest that they 'talk' after his date. Nolan's jaw tenses, as though he's biting down hard on his back teeth, and Brett's first thought is, is he jealous? For a second he's absolutely hopeful, and then his inner skeptic reminds, if Nolan's jealous of anything, he's jealous of the fact that I'm getting sex on a regular basis while he clearly isn't.

"Okay," Nolan says quietly. "Alright, then. Sorry I bothered you." He glances at Isaac and says out of habit, "Say bye-bye, Isaac."

Isaac waves, then reaches for Brett. "Kiss."

Brett steps closer to Nolan in order to kiss Isaac's chubby cheek. "Bye-bye," he murmurs, forcing himself to smile at the child, who smiles and coos back at him.

For a moment after that, Brett and Nolan just look at each other. Nolan seems to have forgotten that he's supposed to be leaving, and Brett doesn't exactly want to turn his back on him. For several seconds, Nolan just looks at him, as though thinking hard about something.

Brett wants to kiss him so badly, but he can't and he won't. Nolan abruptly bites his bottom lip, and then carefully says, "I think I'm going to move out."

. . . the fuck?

"What?" Brett says, flabbergasted. "Move out? Why?"

Nolan looks away. "I just – think it's best," he says. "We've been in an uncomfortable situation ever since – erm, well."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Brett sputters. "You can't move out. What about Isaac?"

"Isaac will be fine," Nolan says. "He can stay with me during the weekends and whenever you're busy, and he can stay with you at the house during the week. Things are already like that anyways, Brett, we've just been living together in that gigantic house while we've been doing it."

Brett stares at him, shocked and upset. Something very much like hurt is running through him, and he's clenching his fists and teeth in anger. He could slap the shit out of Nolan right now, but he won't – he could never hit Nolan, not ever– because there's the matter of Isaac to think about.

Isaac – sweet, wonderful, adorable Isaac, who Brett loves as though Isaac had been his son all along. If Nolan isn't happy, how can Isaac be happy? Isaac loves Nolan just like he loves Brett. Hell, Brett loves Nolan too much to let him stay in a situation where he's uncomfortable.

No. I did not just think that.

"Fine," Brett says flatly. "I don't care if you want to move out."

Nolan stares at him, hurt, and Brett wants to eat his words almost immediately. I care. I care, I do.

But Nolan doesn't give him a chance. "Alright," he murmurs. "I'll be out soon, then. Bye, Brett."

Nolan turns and calmly, too calmly, walks away. Isaac waves goodbye to Brett again, peeking over Nolan's shoulder, but Brett can't bring himself to smile and return the gesture right now..

 

"Liam – have you seen my phone?"

"No, I haven't."

"Well, shit. I heard it beep, but I can't – Isaac."

The culprit in the case of the missing phone looks up with a giggle and a broad smile. He's got Brett's phone clutched in both small hands. As soon as he sees Brett coming, he takes off, moving as fast as he can on his chubby, wobbly little legs. Brett catches him easily, and scoops him up. The child laughs uproariously and tries to escape, but Brett just grins and says, "Uh-uh. Got you!"

As soon as he gets his phone away from the little one, Brett sets him back down on the floor to go back to playing. He's got a text, and winces reflexively at the name on the ID.

"What is it?" Liam asks curiously from his position on the couch.

"Message from Nolan," Brett replies, mastering his expression. Every time he even thinks of Nolan, Brett feels that uncomfortable pang of callhimtalktohimImisshim. But that feeling is nothing compared to what he feels when he actually has to see Nolan – he can barely even speak when he's around. How fucking ironic, because he's never, ever had a problem saying stupid shit around Nolan before, but now he doesn't know what to say at all.

You can bring Isaac over now.

Brett checks the time and replies, did you just get off work? it's late.

Yeah. I'm sorry if I inconvenienced you. Do you need me to come pick him up?

Brett shakes his head. Only Nolan would use a word like 'inconvenienced' in a text message. no. i finally got a car, remember?

Yes, I know. Just checking.

Brett sighs and puts his phone back into his pocket, where it's safe from the grabby hands of a certain child. "I've got to take Isaac to Nolan's now," he explains to his boyfriend with a sigh. "Be back soon."

The pediatrician nods understandingly, though he's giving Brett a bit of a weird look as he does so. "Alright, then. Bye, Isaac!"

Isaac waves cheerfully, and Brett quickly gathers the things that he'll need, then heads out. His new car isn't much, but once he stopped having access to Nolan's car, he pretty much had to get one if he planned on ever getting anywhere with Isaac in tow.

It's not far from Liam's apartment to Nolan's new place, so it's barely fifteen minutes later that Brett is parking and getting Isaac out of his car seat. He heads up to Nolan's apartment and knocks. Seconds later, the door opens, and he's face to face with Nolan.

"Hi," he blurts instinctively.

"Hello," Nolan replies automatically. At the sight of Nolan, Isaac lets out a squeal of happiness and Brett immediately hands him over. Nolan hugs the child tight and kisses both of his cheeks.

"I missed you," Nolan tells Isaac, smiling at him. Brett watches this for a moment, trying to bite back a smile of his own.

"Here's his usual stuff," Brett says, holding up a small knapsack. They've only done this exchange four times – it's been a month since Nolan moved out of the mansion – but already Isaac has a set group of items that he brings with him to Nolan's. Brett finds this rather depressing.

Nolan takes the knapsack and sets it down just inside the door, in the foyer. From what Brett can see of the apartment, it's small and plain and a little boring. Nolan clearly hasn't done any decorating of any kind, though Brett isn't surprised – from what he can tell about Nolan's week-day life now, the teacher spends nearly all of his time working. He looks tired, pale, and a little depressed, and it makes Brett's heart hurt.

"Are you okay?" Brett asks, before he has time to stop himself.

Nolan looks rather surprised. "Of course," he says, still hugging Isaac to his chest. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You just look tired," Brett says, looking away. "I – never mind. Anyway, see you Sunday night. Bye, Isaac."

Isaac waves goodbye, and Brett walks off quickly, before he has time to do any other stupid things, like maybe ask Nolan how his day has been or beg Nolan to move back to the mansion.

When he gets back to Liam’s house, the man is still sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine. He looks up when Brett enters and smiles warmly. Brett forces half a smile back.

"How's Nolan?" Liam inquires.

"Fine, I guess," Brett says, with a heavy sigh as he sits down next to Liam on the couch.

The other man frowns. "Did he say something to you?" he asks. "You seem . . . I don't know. Not exactly happy."

"I'm not happy," Brett mutters truthfully. "I just . . . worry about Nolan sometimes. Which I shouldn't, because obviously he can take care of himself."

"Obviously," Liam agrees, nodding. "Are you sure you're not just worried about Isaac?"

"I'm sure," Brett says. "I trust Nolan with him completely."

"I know," the doctor says, "but you definitely miss him when he's not around."

"Is it that obvious?" Brett asks, with a wry smile. "Well, yeah, I miss him. I hate going to that huge-ass mansion and being there alone without him and Nolan."

Liam blinks, his expression shifting ever so slightly. "You know, you can just stay with me."

Brett forces another smile. "Thanks. But you probably don't really want me around all weekend."

"I want you around for longer than that," Liam says simply. "I want you to move in, Brett."

" . . . What?" Brett says dumbly.

"I know it's a little fast," Liam says evenly, smiling slightly. "But there's really no sense in you living in that giant house with just Isaac. I doubt CPS will actually care if Isaac isn't raised there. And my apartment's big enough for you two."

Brett isn't sure what to say. On the one hand, Liam is amazing. Isaac likes him, he's got a nice place, and he's just all around great. But the idea of moving in with him, committing to him, makes a red light flashing Nolan, Nolan, Nolan go off in Brett's head, and Brett isn't sure why, but he has a sneaking suspicion.

Liam’s watching him expectantly. "Brett?"

Brett is jolted out of his reverie. "Sorry," he blurts. "But I – . . ."

Liam’s expression slowly falls, and then a look of complete understanding crosses his face. Brett winces. "It's about him, isn't it." Liam's voice is gentle, too gentle, and Brett wants to slap himself.

"No," he says quickly. "Nolan has nothing to do with it. I just – I think three months is too fast."

Liam shakes his head. "No, you don't," he says. "I don't think three months is the issue. And I honestly don't think I'm the issue. I think it's Nolan. And that's okay, Brett, really."

"No, it's not," Brett practically moans. "Nolan – Nolan has his own place now, and his own life. The only thing we have in common is Isaac."

Liam smiles faintly. Brett can tell he's hurting, but he's so god-damn nice about it. "You have feelings for him, Brett. You just don't want to admit it. That's why you won't move in with me – because you care about him too deeply. And I've got a hunch that he cares about you, too."

Brett's first instinct is to refute that statement, but it sounds so right. It's true, and he's known it ever since he slept with Nolan, but he's never understood it. He cares about Nolan, he wants Nolan, he needs Nolan, and he has to go and get him now. And Liam – no, Liam – God bless him, he gets that.

"I think you might be right," Brett murmurs. "Jesus, I think you're right. I'm so sorry. Really, I am."

Liam smiles weakly. "It's alright," he says. "Brett, I think what you need to do is go see Nolan."

"I think so, too," the artist says, rising from the couch. He looks at Liam for a long moment, and then says, "You deserve much better than me, by the way. You're going to make someone very happy one day."

Liam only smiles. "Go, Brett."

Brett goes.

Brett knocks on Nolan's door like the building is burning down around them.

Nolan answers with a slightly annoyed expression, and Brett remembers the time and thinks, oh, shit, Isaac's probably in bed already.

"I'm sorry," he says, as quietly as he can. "I just – I need to talk to you."

Nolan stares at Brett for a moment, and there it is, that moment of getting it that everyone suddenly seems to be having today. "Okay," he says, and he steps aside to let Brett in.

Nolan leads him to the kitchen table, and there's a brief moment of awkwardness. Nolan finally breaks the silence by saying, "I can, er, get you something, if you'd like . . . ?"

Brett blinks, and shakes his head. "Uh, no, thanks, I'm fine," he says. "I just – shit, I don't know what to say anymore."

Nolan motions for him to have a seat, alternating between watching Brett's face carefully and staring at anything but Brett. Brett sits, and then Nolan sits next to him at the small kitchen table.

"I spent the drive here trying to think of ways to just come out and say it," Brett says, talking both to himself and to Nolan right now. "And now, I can't remember any of it."

Nolan bites his lip. "Brett, you're confusing me."

Brett smiles wryly, resorting to sarcasm as a last ditch attempt to buy time before he has to open up and spill his guts. "That's got to be the first time I've ever confused a genius."

"No," Nolan says, quietly. "You confuse me all the time." The honesty in the statement practically rings in the air, and the fact that Nolan is finally coming out and saying something, anything . . .

"Oh, God, Freckles," Brett says, with a sigh. "We are both such idiots. Don't you know that you confuse the hell outta me, too? Don't you know that I secretly fucking love being confused by you?"

"That makes no sense," Nolan murmurs, with a weak smile.

"I know," Brett replies honestly. "I guess – what I'm trying to come out and say is that – oh, fuck. I think I might love you."

"You think you might love me," Nolan repeats, staring at him with those wide, pretty eyes.

"Shit," Brett swears. "I think I love you."

Brett doesn't have time to say anything else, because then Nolan is leaning and kissing him, full-on and passionate about it, and Brett can hear fucking angel choirs singing away and firecrackers going off and doves flying and shit.

Finally, Nolan breaks the kiss and pants, their faces inches apart, "What the hell has all this been about then, if you love me like I love you?"

"I don't know," Brett admits, blushing at those last three words. "That goes back to the whole 'we're both idiots' thing, probably. I mean, I knew after we had sex. I think it was there all along, but that was when it hit me. I knew that was why I always tease you, why I find certain shit that you do really freaking . . . cute, why I felt like kissing you and touching you was so right – but then you didn't feel the same. And I got pissed and tried to pretend like I didn't feel that way, and I kind of succeeded at that, because I got Liam –,"

Nolan's eyes widen abruptly. "Speaking of him," he interrupts, "what . . . are you two . . .?"

Brett nods. "He figured out what I was pretending not to know. And he told me that I needed to go."

"Thank God for that," Nolan murmurs. "Because I wouldn't have said anything, or done anything. I thought I'd ruined all my chances with you, if I ever really had any. I thought that you'd surely stay with him. That would have destroyed me, but I was so afraid to do something for fear of only making things worse." He pauses suddenly. "Oh, my God . . . Malia was right."

"Malia?" Brett says, bemused. "Your former beard, Malia?"

"She wasn't my beard," Nolan mutters automatically. "But I called her for advice after we had sex, when I realized that I was getting feelings for you. She told me that if I moved out of the house, you'd eventually realize that you wanted me."

Brett stares at him. "So that's why you moved out? You ass!"

"No," Nolan says quickly. "I only decided that I was going to do it after you didn't want to go out to dinner with me so we could work things out."

"God, Nolan," Brett murmurs. "We've been stupid, Freckles."

"I agree," Nolan says, smiling slightly.

" . . . Are you smiling because I called you 'Freckles' again? Oh my God, do you like that nickname?"

"No!" Nolan says hastily. "I just – I missed it."

Brett smirks, and leans in to kiss Nolan again. "I missed you," he admits after a moment, cocky smirk fading slightly to be replaced by a shy smile.

Nolan's cheeks are pink with what Brett knows is happiness. "I missed you, too. But you're . . . you're mine now, aren't you?"

"Yours. And you're mine?"

Nolan smiles more broadly than Brett has ever seen him smile, and Brett loves it. "Of course."

Five months later.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you . . ."

Isaac claps his hands together happily and reaches greedily for the cake. Nolan sets a slice down in front of him, and the child dives on it like a jackal on a carcass as the song finishes up.

Brett leans against Nolan's arm, watching with an affectionate smile. "That kid puts away food like a vacuum with dust bunnies. Sweet, icing-covered dust bunnies."

Nolan laughs quietly. "He does –,"

Beep, beep, flash! "Sorry, guys," Malia says, smiling. "I had to snap a picture of you two. Too cute."

Brett groans. "Oh, jeez, Nolan, did you put her on camera duty?" he asks. Malia has flown in for Isaac's party, and Brett and Malia, despite hardly knowing each other, have already established a fondly annoyed attitude towards each other.

"She wanted to take pictures," Nolan says, with a shrug and a smile. "You don't really mind, I know you don't."

"I don't," Brett agrees, elbowing him gently in the ribs. He then leans up to kiss Nolan lightly, and beep, beep, flash!

"Oh, God," Nolan laughs. "I think I've created a monster."

Malia grins and gestures towards Isaac, who's already covered in cake and frosting, and tells the other guests, "Back off, I want a picture of them with Isaac. It'll be adorable."

Brett smiles softly, as though at a fond memory. "Déjà vu."

"Yeah," Nolan agrees, moving to one side of Isaac's chair as Brett moves to the other. Nolan's already smiling for the camera when he feels a handful of icing hit the side of his face, spattering blue flecks onto his cheek.

"Isaac!" he laughs.

Isaac laughs, too. "Got Freckles!"

Brett bursts into laughter as Nolan sputters and grins, and beep, beep, flash!, another photo, another memory of a happy family is captured.


End file.
